Own your pleasure
by swampophelia
Summary: Response to the Dom/Ariadne SMUT WEEK challenge in the LJ cobb ariadne community Architecture Digest. Warning: FFnet may take down this piece due to explicit sexual content. Amazing... it is my most popular fic but only 1 review!


Title: Own Your Pleasure  
Rating: R/M+  
Pairing: Dom/Ariadne

Disclaimer: Nolan still owns all the characters, except for what I do to them.

Response to Prompt and **Swirl's** request.

**Cobb talks Ariadne through masturbation.  
And he himself resists coming when Ariadne can't scratch that itch.**

Submitted to D/A Smut week, though it is double the word count limit. Oh well, double the fun (I hope). concrit welcome.  
Warnings: Sexually explicit content. To keep with FFnet's M rating policy, this piece has been abridged. Full content available at cobb_ariadne LJ community.

* * *

"Where are we?"

"Where do you want to be?"

Ariadne sighs in frustration. This would be so much better if they were actually under. But nooooo…. He had to be in California and she was still stuck in Paris, a few weeks shy of graduation. He promised he'd be over and she could finally see the children again after so long. Even Arthur said he'd drag Eames from his lucrative business venture with Yusuf so they could collectively shout from the bleachers that she was finally an adult, a card-carrying member of the ranks of the unemployed.

Except of course Dom took care of that. With Stephen Miles' blessing she was going to be a junior in Dominic Cobb's start-up practice in California in two months. They just need to convince the other partners that she didn't sleep her way into the job.

Hence the phone sex, instead of the real thing. Heck, PASIV sex would be even better than this (_and she smirks at herself for her pun_).

"Seriously Dom, I'm not exactly sure I can contribute to the atmosphere building this time."

Ariadne was sitting by her bedroom bay window dressed in nothing but Dom's oversized Lakers' jersey (hmmpph.. typical tall man with tall person sport hobbies), cradling a cellphone on one shoulder while she held a cool drink with the opposite hand. She had one leg raised on the seat cushion while the other was stretched out, a foot on the edge of her bed. Paris weather was mild this time of year, and her windows were open and a breeze licked at her nape. The lights were off, but the moonlight and the reflected lights of the city illuminated the room well enough for her to actually see muted versions of the colors of her wallpaper and bedspread.

She had barely touched any of the earnings from Saito, but she indulged herself in an apartment that had a perfect view of the park below AND there were no high rise buildings with nosey neighbors that could spy on her with binoculars and telescopes. Actually, that had been Dom's idea. Ever since Dom's walls crumbled and he realized that people actually get second chances he pursued her. He had gone with the mentor/best friend approach and of course the whole time she thought that she was imagining things. She had been taken aback when she realized the heated banter was real, wondering if some twisted Florence Nightingale syndrome had hit Dom after the Fischer job and maybe she was still drugged out on that new Somnacin Ex. After much heehawing on both ends, and Arthur and Stephen and the children running an intervention the year before, the two of them finally got their act together and just got happy.

Since their separation for appearances sake six weeks ago, they've called every night flush with the excitement of new lovers. Initially they tried the internet, but fiddling around with webcams and cables just broke the mood. Though they longed to see each other, for Ariadne at least, Dom's voice and imagination was enough to make her melt. She had not been confident with her own instructions and fantasies, but he took her in stride. Having a mentor, even in this, truly made things better.

So it was this lack of confidence, which struck her tonight particularly hard, that made her come up empty when he asked "Where are we?"

"Hon," Dom's voice was wary, worried, "maybe you don't want to do this tonight?"

"On the contrary Cobb, if you don't tell me where we are and what you're doing to me in a few seconds I'm going to be closed for business longer than tonight," she warns him.

His snigger over the line was endearing, maddening. "So I'm Cobb again? Sweetheart, you'll be screaming the right name so loud by the end of the night your neighbors will be pounding the walls."

"Really? Pray tell how _Cobb_?", Ariadne teases him as she dislodges the phone from her shoulder hold with one hand and drains her glass slowly, making her gulps audible through the line. She raises both legs on the bay window seat and looks out onto the night sky.

"First let's keep this simple. We're in your apartment, in your bedroom," he says softly. "You're wearing my shirt, and nothing else. I'm right behind you, and I'm nibbling your neck…"

Ariadne tilts her head in response, imagining the feel of his teeth on her nape. Her free hand starts playing with the hem of the shirt, fingers tracing circles on her thighs in an upward motion.

"I'm gripping your shoulders, and I'm slowly sliding my hands down your arms. I need you to cup your breasts through your shirt Hon," he commands and she complies, again cradling the phone on her shoulder.

"I turn you to me and I'm kneeling in front of you between your legs, Ariadne…", he pauses, "I can smell how sexed you are." Ariadne's body reacts immediately, her eyes close as she moistens and the first sense of pressure builds. She's so taken by his tone, the _hunger_ in it, that she doesn't hear a door creak open till she swears she could _smell_ him.

She opens her eyes and she sees Dom Cobb standing in her bedroom doorway, one hand on his phone and the other pocketing the key she had given him months before. Her face held such ecstatic surprise as she made to rise that Dom almost gave up the game, but he gestures for her to stay in her seat. Ariadne sits down facing him with her legs spread, enticing him with the fact she wore no underwear. She could see his erection from the soft fabric of his trousers as both of them close their phones.

"I came early."

Ariadne smirks at him, replying "I hope that isn't a statement for tonight." Seeing him in the flesh, after six long weeks, made her _throb_ all over and heat build up in her core.

"Where are the children?"

"With their grandfather tonight," Dom replies as he unbuttons his shirt, exposing his lean, muscled torso, yet still he doesn't approach her. Though his tone was casual, his eyes were predatory as he focused on the flesh she exposed. "I believe I told you I can smell how sexed you are."

"Uhm," she responds, leaning her arms behind her back and planting her feet down on the floor in a somewhat defiant gesture, her eyes matching his primal look. "I remember you were supposed to be here," pointing at the space between her legs with her lips.

"Not yet," he says as he takes his shirt off, revealing toned, muscled arms. "So I'm there under your shirt, and I'm licking your chest while I have a finger stroking your inner thigh," Dom spiels as he slowly undoes his belt, his eyes holding hers captive.

Ariadne responds by slipping her right hand underneath her shirt exposing her belly button. She knew that Dom would direct every movement of hers in the following moments, but she thought he wouldn't mind a bit of improvisation. Dom lets his trousers fall to his ankles and his erection strains against his underwear. Still, he remains by the doorway when he kicks his clothes out of the way.

The hand under Ariadne's shirt slowly traces a path downward, following his direction. Her other hand is already busy stroking herself ahead of his prompting.

CENSORED.

Ariadne ignores the flicking instruction and plunges her fingers inside herself, her center having been wet and engorged earlier. She had always been excited by the sensation of her own flesh, imagining what his sensation of her must be like. She clenched reactively at her own imaginings while she stroked herself with his prompting, her breathing erratic.

CENSORED, he growls. He was close now, right there between her legs where he should be. He kneels in front of her, the pace of her strokes quickening as his breathing began to match her own. She stops her fingerwork and places both hands at her side, spreading herself wider for him.

He could see her moisture, despite the low light – she was glistening. He looks up at her face then, her long hair partially covering a side of her face. He puts her hair back behind her ear, and with a sudden move he grabs a bunch of hair and pushes her face down on his, mouth connecting to mouth. Only then do they close their eyes as they hold each other, their tongues in a classic dance.

He breaks away first, placing his mouth against her ear. "I want you to keep touching yourself," he hisses. His voice was ragged, yet still melodic, still absolutely the kindest, most sonorous thing she has ever heard and she rides a wave of ecstasy, her fingers speeding up to catch bursts of moist pleasure. Her fingers and bottom are dripping wet, and the realization of increased wetness prompts another wave of pleasurable aching. She arches her back, raising one leg on the seat for stability. Her free hand gropes for him, hoping to return the favor and maybe even to finish the contact, yet he was having none of it.

"Please, Dom. Please, it was twice already," she begs him, her chest heaving as somehow his and her fingers intertwine mid-stroke.

"Dom, please, please, please," she cried. She couldn't understand how he could even come up with the word "glorious" when the only words in her head were "please" and "Dom" and "God".

He stops, lifts her shirt off completely and lifts her off the seat by her bottom. Her legs wrap around him, holding on to his neck for support as he fully plunges into her. He carries her to the bed, all the while telling her not to stop touching herself.

She matches his rhythm, rubbing herself while he thrusts. She was on her back, a leg hooked around his back and the other around his arm, her bottom slightly lifted as he knelt on the bed in a position that allowed him the greatest leverage and her most contact. Her head was starting to swim, becoming overwhelmed by another wave of quaking pleasure and she absentmindedly gripped the bed. Dom stilled, surprising her with the suddenness.

"What are you doing?", her voice incredulous, fearful of losing the momentum that had been built.

"I told you not to stop," Dom growled, his mask of control betrayed by his irregular breathing.

"You didn't have to stop," she says as a finger returns to her crotch.

It wasn't too late and soon she rode her third orgasm for the night and Dom rocked along with her, tumbling into ecstasy, the blood pounding in their heads at the same time. All he could hear during the peak was Ariadne screaming "Dom". Afterward, when they were truly spent, and he was spooning her as the streetlights gave way to dawn light, all she could hear was him whispering "Aria, Aria, sweet Aria."


End file.
